


Aftertaste

by WhyNotFly



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cannibalism, Happy Vore Day everyone!!!, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Mutilation, Implied romantic Jon/Elias, M/M, Masturbation, No live people are eaten, Sexual pleasure derived from cannibalism, just bits and pieces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyNotFly/pseuds/WhyNotFly
Summary: The package on Elias’s desk is addressed to him in curling calligraphy, the ink black and still shiny as if it had been written only moments before he stepped into his office that morning.It says simply:Care of Mr. Elias BouchardOpen promptly.Annabelle sends Elias a little reminder of what he's missing.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Aftertaste

The package on Elias’s desk is addressed to him in curling calligraphy, the ink black and still shiny as if it had been written only moments before he stepped into his office that morning.

It says simply:

_Care of Mr. Elias Bouchard_

_Open promptly._

He would have known that it was from the spiders even if the ribbon binding the simple brown paper wasn’t delicate and white and thin like string but finer than any string could ever be. He would have known even if he couldn’t smell the cracking edges of chitin lingering in the air beneath the usual scent of freshly lacquered wood. He knows the way Annabelle Cain writes his name. The twist of the _s_ in _Elias_ as if she is laughing at his insistence in the masquerade. An indulgence. 

Elias turns away from the package to take his time settling his coat neatly over the hanger. His grip leaves such violent furrows in the wool that he’ll have to take it to be pressed later. An unconscious betrayal by the half of his mind that is already ripping into the brown paper like a man possessed. It does not do to give the monsters what they want. If you provide satisfaction, they’ll come back seeking more.

 _Open promptly._ says Annabelle’s package as Elias settles at his desk. It whispers with an insistence that Elias cannot tell apart from his natural, god-given curiosity. That irks at him, the uncertainty of it. Elias does not like uncertainty, and he rarely has to face it in his position.

It’s soft, the package, softer than he thought it would be. It droops when he picks it up, hanging limp in his grip so that the still-wet lettering of his name bends in a distorted arc. When he presses the pads of his fingers deep into the spongy paper, he thinks he can feel a fleeting trace of warmth. Like a chair, recently occupied. _There is something missing_ , the package seems to say. _Someone missing_ and Elias tears at the spider silk binding in a sudden, panic-ridden certainty of what he will find inside.

Beneath the wrapping, as he tears it away, is a slim length of wax paper, sealed tightly closed, and a note resting gently on top.

 _Do you know_ , says the note in the same impossibly wet, curving font as the outside, _what sound he made?_

Elias tosses the note away, fits his fingers into the exposed edge of the wax paper, and pulls.

Even pale and bloodless purple, the lump of flesh smells like Jon. It feels like him too, when Elias scathes his fingers delicately along its surface. The slight give and elasticity of skin, smooth and intimately familiar. Elias closes his eyes and wonders if this is the soft arching side of Jon’s throat, so recently beating with the pulse of his powerful words, or the thin inside of his forearm where Elias has grabbed and tugged so many times, or the thick meat of his thigh which Elias still remembers hot and present against the kisses he planted there.

The fact that he does not know feels like the greatest insult. Jon has taken every scar Elias has ripped and thrust into him again and again and again and the least Elias should be able to do in return is know him. Inside, outside, in between, the beating truth of what composed the beautiful creature that he has pulled and twisted barehanded out of the wet clay of humanity.

Elias doesn't remember lifting the flesh to his mouth, but there it dangles, limp in his grip and smelling gently of salt. Saliva gathers unbidden behind Elias’s teeth, and he takes in a deep enough breath that he imagines he can already taste his delicate Archivist in his throat. His hips twitch upward towards the meat in his hands, and Elias becomes suddenly aware of the heat in his groin pressed painfully into the crease of his trousers. It rolls all through him like a hot flash, leaving him dizzy and desperate and _hungry_ and before he can think, Elias dives forward and digs his teeth into his Jonathan’s flesh.

His teeth go through like a knife slotted cleanly between two ribs. Drool overflows from the corners of his mouth and drips down his chin, staining into the crisp white collar of his shirt. The meat is impossibly warm, like every other piece of Jon he has ever had in his mouth, but _better_ because the knowledge, the experience, belongs to Elias alone. He is the only one who gets to have Jonathan like this. On his lap and under his hands and sliding hot and perfect down his throat into his stomach.

Elias reaches down with a clumsy hand and struggles to unzip his fly and fish out his cock. When he closes his eyes, he can see Jon’s slender, beautiful fingers wrapped around him, rolling up and down his cock while he leans in close and presses his shoulder into Elias’s mouth so that he can have another bite. Elias can almost hear Jon’s lovely whimper of pain and fear as his teeth close down tight. 

_Do you know what sound he made?_

Elias spends himself with a muffled groan, his cum dripping messily down the front of his shirt. How long has it been since he was so careless? How long has it been since he last lost control? His stomach feels warm and full and it shifts heavily inside him as he pushes himself out of his chair to standing. Slowly, Elias licks the flat of his tongue up each of his fingers one by one, shivering with pleasure at the subtle aftertaste of salt.

It is time to reclaim what belongs to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone told me it was vore day, (LOOKIN AT U SEMNAI) so I banged this out as quick as I could in spite of the fact that I'm dying of a double ear infection. Ah, the things I do for my beloved jonelias and my beloved vore.
> 
> If you're the same kind of weirdo as me and you enjoyed this, you are very welcome to come hit me up on tumblr [@apatheticbutterflies](https://apatheticbutterflies.tumblr.com) :D Thanks for reading and enjoy this international holiday!


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